


Hunting season

by Pryaniki



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation (2015)
Genre: I swear, Jean-Paul Sartre also, M/M, No I'm not joking, and terrible humor, bad puns involved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:45:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4979521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pryaniki/pseuds/Pryaniki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue Nation needs more Ethan/Will. I’m just sneaking in the blank spaces between the scenes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter takes place after London heated “talking” between Ethan and the rest of the gang.  
> Please note that English is not my first language, and this is my first story ever. The fic is almost completely beta’d by my lovely bilingual baguette [life-in-madland](http://life-in-madland.tumblr.com) (praise be to you but sorry, I added stuff... again!). They're most certainly some mistakes, so please be indulgent~

“L'enfer, c'est les autres.” He remembered it was one of his college teacher’s favorite quotes. Jean-Paul Sartre must also have locked himself in a bathroom when he wrote that one. Hell is most certainly other people.  
The three people he was running away from were still supposed to be allies. They were his co-workers - well, former co-workers for now. Hell, he even considered two of them to be his friends. Although there was most likely scope for debate on that particular matter for one of them. Not because of their friendly chit-chat earlier, it was sort of a routine already. It was the attitude of their uncontested team leader he had trouble to overcome.

However, he had to wait while they were looking for a needle in a haystack. Again. And the tap was dripping, drops falling at too regular to be normal intervals. The redundancy was starting to get on his nerves. Weariness was stabbing him in the back, disseminating its insidious effects on his mind and body.  
On top of that, he was aware his thoughts were erratic, his attention caught by everything and nothing at once. The thread of his psyche was rolling out beneath his helpless eyes, and he was unable to stop it. The perfect cherry of annoyance on a wonderful marble cake of paranoia and frustration.

He secretly hoped that whoever was drumming nervously could choke on the goddamn cherry. At the very least that specific noise would stop.

So many questions needed to be asked. Not like the aphasic specimen who held too tightly the answers would be willing to share them with him. Oh, far be it from him the idea of playing good old persecuted ugly duckling's role, the whole situation was already making him paranoid enough. Having no contact at all with a hiding spy during a long and indeterminate period is one thing you can’t decently complain about, especially when you’re on the same trade. It’s just that he couldn’t help but feel a bit ignored after their heated discussion. That look full of animosity - was it resentment? - and the way he...

Just... Shut. Up. Shut up. Focus.

He took a deep breath.

Sometimes he hated his inner bitter bitch, as he like to call his guilty conscience. He knew circumstances were more complicated than that, and stakes were higher than his minuscule selfish persona. On the other hand, he couldn't understand the Ethan Hunt he was facing. The veteran spy’s trust was hard to gain, yet he seemed to blindly believe an unreliable double – triple? – ex-British agent. Why? It had to be said that he was running full speed into a concrete wall he didn’t want to acknowledge, maybe out of share desperation.

Or maybe Ethan had strong evidence of Ilsa Faust's good faith he had yet to show? And although he played the maverick lone crusader until Vienna, for good or not so good reasons, he ultimately got the fact he needed help from someone. Benji was the perfect choice for that. Of course he was. There was no other―

“Brandt.”

Will panicked during a brief moment at the sound of his name. No way could Ethan “Wreaking ball” Hunt read his mind, but timing was definitely a funny thing.

He had nothing better to reply than a displeased grumble.

“We found her, let's go.” 

Hallelujah. They’re finally getting to the bottom of it. Or things are going to move somehow, at least.  
Ethan was just about to leave without letting even a hint of emotion show on his face when he froze behind Will’s back.

“Are you okay?” He was obviously trying to soften his voice, without much success.

Will stood up straight and looked neutrally over his shoulder. Ethan’s stiff body was standing in the way, intense and vivid greenish blades fixed in his direction. He headed towards the exit, resolute to get the job done.  
He was expecting Ethan’s hand on his arm to stop him. No surprise here, no fault found. But the man was damn good at breaking the others’ physical boundaries, and he was getting a tiny bit too close for Will to be totally comfortable with the situation. Yet he stayed strangely calm, the growing irritation feeding his need to analyze things rather than suffering from them.

“Let’s go, what are you waiting for? A tip?” He gave a faint smile to reduce the harshness of his dry humor.

The older spy’s rugged face stared at the ceiling for several seconds, breathing out. He seemed to be having a hard time, but wasn’t eager to rush in like he usually did. Finally, after breathing in deeply, he looked Will right in the eyes.

“Will, I’m sorry.”

Just three words, and so much wrongness. First: “Will”? Since when did Ethan call him by his first name? Even when they were flirting – if Will had well read into the muddled attempts and the other mixed signals given by the supposedly more experimented adult, never had such a thing ever happened. There are only a few certainties which you can rely on in this terrible world, and he was for the moment keen to keep that one: Will was “Brandt” for Ethan. To be called otherwise was frankly disturbing. And what about “I’m sorry”? IMF cocky golden-boy saying he’s sorry. Shit, it must be bad, so bad. Why can’t you be predictable, you mulish bastard?

“C’mon it’s not the first time we argue. We’re like an old married couple now.” It sounds like he was trying to be reassuring. Which he was. Oh, he said married couple. With a little sarcastic laugh. But he won’t take offense, right? This kind of things slips on him. Like water off a duck’s back. Duck Hunt.

“I mean it.” Judging by the pain caused by the grip on his arm and the almost ridiculous over-seriousness of Ethan’s gaze, it wasn’t possible to doubt this declaration of faith. As a matter of fact, Will was rather intimidated by these sudden drops-in-three-words “salvo”. Save your bullets, only shoot to kill? For personal talking, he was more a submachine’s school kind of guy – confusion by overflow of information, disinformation. Well, fortunately for him, he had a good bulletproof vest.

Will assumed that his resting murder face mustn’t have expressed anything more than incredulity as Ethan’s whole features, way more eloquent than his words, felt downwards.  
“Hey, it’s okay. I believe you.” At the same time his gigantic puppy eyes looked sorry, a brash smirk came up on the right corner of his mouth. “I don’t regret what I said, though. I still think we should….”

“Yeah yeah I got it.” The ante-Syndicate Ethan would have thrown the “I’m-gonna-eat-you-alive” smile making him looks like a cat - cruel, playful and confident - to prevent any form of objection. But all Will could see now was fatigue and disenchantment. _This dork simply needs a hug._ And before he could acknowledge it, he enveloped this stray being’s stocky form.

Caught short at first, Ethan answered back nestling his head in the hollow of Will’s shoulder.

Eyes closed, they both enjoyed this brief pause in the chaos before going back to work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to specify the scene, I think you'll recognize it soon enough... 
> 
> Chapter beta'd by the amazing [CaptainKyburz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainKyburz/pseuds/CaptainKyburz), [marriedtojbiebs ](marriedtojbiebs.tumblr.com) and [life-in-madland](life-in-madland.tumblr.com). Again, thank you so much, you made this chapter 1000 times better!

“This is how we beat Lane. This is how we make everything right. Can you see? Can’t you see it?” 

This time, Will was completely lost, and so was Ethan’s mind. The older spy was getting closer and closer, slowly but surely, like the heavy, menacing dark clouds when it was about to rain. He couldn’t decide if it was desperation or mania taking over the poor soul.

Ethan glanced over his shoulder, giving Luther a silent but meaningful nod. “We need to figure this out,” he stated.

Luther saw his old friend leading Brandt in the opposite direction, apart from his own sight and hearing. He trusted Ethan – oh man he did – but couldn’t help being somewhat worried. When it came to personal matters, a secretive Ethan was always a bullshitting Ethan, and always a bad sign. Always.

—————————- 

“Listen Will, I need you in on this.”

“Oh, so we’re back to Will now? Let’s cut the bullshit Ethan. You can’t possibly expect me to go along blindly with every reckless idea your mind throws out. Don’t insult me like that. I let you do it your way with her and look what happened. We need to cut our losses right now. They have Benji, for Christ’s sake!”

“I know you don’t trust Ilsa, but her hands are tied. Can’t you see she’s being used by both Attlee and Lane?”

“It’s not a question of trust, Ethan. Lane’s toy or not, she’ll go his way. Stop forgiving her because you can see yourself in her martyr’s situation.”

If Ethan’s eyes were machine guns, Will would be Swiss cheese by now. “So you meant it. You really believe I lost it and I’m so obsessed with beating Lane that I’ve convinced myself I’m constantly being persecuted. Oh yeah, Hunley did a great job on you, didn’t he?”

“No, no, no, don’t. Don’t do that. I did everything I could to defend your case, to cover your tracks during those six months with Hunley on my back, and then find you before the CIA could do it and kill you in the process. Why do you think I chose to stay in that bureaucratic vipers’ nest? I had no other choice if I wanted to help your ass. You’re still doubting I’m on your side? Why can’t you just take criticism for what it is, dammit?”

Ethan was accustomed to Brandt’s shouting, but unlike Benji’s statement in Vienna, this one left him dumbfounded. The mutual trust that true friendship implied was something so easily forgotten. The analyst looked positively pissed off, his eyebrows nearly touching in two slanted lines made of disapproval and discontent.

“Okay, you know what? You’re right. Let’s cut the bullshit and play it straight. I'll lay my cards out. I owe you the truth." Ethan stopped to check Will’s reaction. As he seemed to be willing to listen to him, he carried on. 

“Before all this mess began, I had... er… ” Ethan was looking for the right words. “I was- ”, he made a practically imperceptible pause, head nodding as he started speaking again, “attracted to you. I guess it’s why I called you first back in London. I trusted you – and don’t get me wrong, I still do - but… ”

Will cut Ethan’s monologue short, hands gripping his own hips, eyebrows baffled this time. “You played it brave but you actually think I let you down, don’t you?” He let the lightest chuckle escape, bobbing his head.

“No, not in the way you think.” Ethan addressed a sorry smile to his confessor. “I was in bad shape, alone… I wanted to say something before it was too late, but I assumed you needed to hang up fast, so… I needed to focus on what was going on, anyway. I did what I had to do.”

“Shit, Ethan… I don’t know what to say.”

“I could use an ‘I feel the same’, eventually.” The sentence was punctuated by a heartbreaking expression; the corners of Ethan’s mouth turning up into a shy smile, his eyes glistening and wistful.

“I’m daydreaming, right? It can’t be true. A minute ago I was pretty convinced I had been imagining things that didn’t happen during all these months.” For the rest of his life, Will would be unable to know if he said it out loud or not. The only thing he was sure about was the beat in his ears getting louder and louder and resonating through his entire body.

And yet, they were glancing at each other in silence.

Maybe it was the situation’s level of urgency; Benji taken by Lane, Ethan seriously considering to abduct the Prime Minister. But no matter how, they ended up both rushing into a messy kiss that looked more like a fierce struggle to an outside observer.  
That’s the reason why Luther came over to try stopping whatever kind of bad shit was happening between them. Luckily enough, they hadn’t seen him stepping back like an embarrassed kid who just caught his parents doing something naughty. He took the hat off his head, rubbing the back of his neck and lowering his head, one eyebrow raised.

“You goddamn son of a bitch. Always need to get the cute one, huh?”

—————————- 

“Better stop now.” Ethan’s voice was soft, but firm.

Will got his point. Making out was inappropriate behaviour in this case, and a disturbing boner hardly fit into the “our techie and friend has been taken” reaction kit.

He stepped back, then cleared his throat and straightened his jacket before saying, “I’m still not buying your plan.”

“If you let me the chance to explain myself, you’ll see it’s our best shot to get Benji back safe… ”

Their dialogue felt like déjà-vu. Once again Ethan might have an incredible chance at being right. Whether he was crazy, insane, or just sharpened by his many – too many, some would say - years as a point man in the field, he had most certainly cracked. Sadly, that was precisely what gave him the ability to be more than relevant on international conspiracy and malignant rogue spies.

And as Ethan explained it, the plan bizarrely started to make some sense. _Okay, I might be insane too..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments are more than welcome!  
> Chapter 3 is probably going to take me a while (tons of work to do, sadly), but the ideas are there.  
> In the meantime, you can find me on M:I related tumblrs [meettheimf](http://meettheimf.tumblr.com) and [justcallmebrandt](http://justcallmebrandt.tumblr.com)
> 
> Oh, and don't hesitate to give me your opinion on the title. I'm lame at titles, and I'm not 100% happy with this one.


	3. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, an update! Yep yep, it is still possible after 5 months (or six?)!  
> Beta by the awesome [marriedtojbiebs ](marriedtojbiebs.tumblr.com)

The plan made sense, but Will wasn't pleased.

He liked Benji. Very much. They had gotten to know each other better after Dubai, Mumbai and all the crap they’d been through. Hunley's vendetta against Ethan should have put a curb to their friendship but despite the evident lack of contact ― Will felt closer to Benji, the only friendly face among this ocean of strangers. Common enemies make people come together, psychology 101... Still, it made him appreciate even more the rare moments they shared during the past six months were one of the few things he still appreciated in his job, and their sparseness made them all the more precious. 

Will truly appreciated Benji ― he was confident that the feeling was reciprocated. Trying to rescue him or not wasn’t even a question. He was ready to do a lot of things to get his friend out of danger, but it was hard to admit that drugging the British Prime Minister and potentially risking a huge diplomatic incident ― euphemism of the century ― was their only option. 

Lying to Hunley wouldn't be a problem. After six months of active and continuous smoking out, it should be a walk in the park. But Will being Will, he was also seeing the other side of the coin: they were helping a terrorist organisation to bring its vision to reality, whether Ethan liked it or not. Of course the plan was to stop the Syndicate and Lane before they achieve their goal - except nothing ever went according the plan. Why should it? IMF officially existing or not, its spirit was very much alive.

So Will was torn between binding loyalty towards his friend and pure common sense, and Ethan's hangdog look wasn't helping.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally the third chapter (the interlude doesn't count as one), sorry for the awfully long delay… Beta by the awesome [marriedtojbiebs ](marriedtojbiebs.tumblr.com) and [life-in-madland](life-in-madland.tumblr.com). You’re the best guys, mille mercis <3

  There was a heavy silence in the car. Not a word was spoken during the drive to get to Luther. They’d made it, but were running out of time, leaving no place for them to talk or even think about their situation. Will wouldn't know what to say anyway. He preferred to focus on driving as fast as he could without drawing the attention of the police on them, or even crashing the car. Thinking about worst-case scenarios was his job —after all— and, not being totally accustomed to driving on the left side of the road yet, he preferred to avoid a miserable and lame ending for them both.

 

  Despite these joyful scenarios keeping him busy, the very thought of what was coming next was running in the back of his mind. Now that it was done, unlocking the disk seemed suddenly like the first and almost easiest step of the deadly process in which Ethan was trapped. The cold, hard reality was now striking Will.

  For an incalculable number of people at the IMF, Ethan Hunt was a living legend, although Will wouldn’t cast them the first stone; during his first years at the IMF as a trainee, then a young field agent, he had this embarrassing fanboy phase where Ethan’s death-defying exploits were for him the source of a surrealist faith in the man. Sometimes he still had relapses, but the thought that the IMF had a real-life James Bond on its side was comforting. James Bond never dies at the end of the movie. Never. But at this precise moment, he could see that Ethan was a human being, in flesh and blood, and it was entirely possible that he wouldn’t come back. He may appear unbreakable, even immortal, yet he was just a really tough bastard.

 

  Will glanced at him. Eyes staring at the road and features tense, his whole body seemed as rigid as a statue. The textbook definition of an exhausted man carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. This vision wrung Will’s heart, making him instinctively tighten his grip on the wheel. Ethan put a gentle hand on his lap. Unexpected, but not unwelcomed. Will took another quick look, and he would have sworn Ethan's face became slightly less grave.

 

* * *

 

  Luther had a point. A very good one, actually.

  “And what happens, Ethan, if you can’t make it back?” Will couldn’t help making his point. But Luther looked very concerned, he was very concerned, and they had rather good reasons to be so.

  “I’ll make it back. Just be ready.”

  And it was the end of the discussion. Ethan had spoken. Will could’ve protested —of course he could have, he had done that countless times before— but what would’ve been the point? Ethan was doing his best impression of Ethan Hunt, and the bastard was almost convincing enough. Almost. Although he would keep that for himself, to avoid undermining the troops’ morale.

 

  Soon they all went back to work, Ethan quickly scanning the list and Will looking up to absently observe the whole process. It would be interesting to know what IMF psychologists would have to say about Ethan’s guilt trips and his apparent death wish, which was closer to something between extreme recklessness, overconfidence, and addiction to adrenaline. He could relate to the first point easily, considerably less so the second one. Even admitting that he was suicidal from time to time, it was usually merely by accident, when his brain, flooded with the rush of adrenaline, managed to stop him overthinking somehow. And it was often to save Ethan’s ass. So it wasn’t the same, not really.

  Will’s thoughts stopped at the sight of Ethan’s implacable destruction of the poor disk. He couldn’t help but think of how Ethan was doing the same to his head, metaphorically. Did he feel sympathy for a goddamn USB key for a second?

 

  Only fifteen minutes to go, but Ethan needed to change, and an extra pair of hands wasn’t unnecessary. Again, no time to lose, and William Brandt had always been a very professional man - he gave the credits of his conscientiousness to his parents’ education. He didn’t take advantage of the situation, concentrating all his energy on finishing the task promptly and efficiently. The only vaguely informal gesture he allowed himself was to fix Ethan’s vest collar like one of those considerate wives from 1950’s Hollywood movies he loved to watch with his auntie when he was a kid. And now Ethan was taking the cellphone for Benji and all Will could do was stare him desperately, eyes shining and bottom lips bitten. Maybe it was the last time he was seeing him and shit, he didn’t—

  “Man, it’s now or never.” Luther was whispering, but his voice was firm. Will tuned back to Luther, frowning and eyes half-closed. Luther’s mouth was this time miming words —“just go”— and Will couldn’t believe what was just happening. He pulled himself together at Luther’s nod, not knowing if he was more driven by running away from Luther’s intense look or the desire to hug Ethan, and rushed before it was too late.

 

  “Ethan…”

  “Go back to work. You know I always keep my promises.”

  “I’m sure you can make it sound cheesier than that.”

  “Listen, Brandt… Will. I don’t intend to die today,” Ethan declared, taking Will’s hand and pressing it against his, “or before our first date.”

  Well he did it. Cheesy as hell, but charming as fuck. “Alright, Agent Hunt… Ethan. I’ll remember this, trust me.” He managed a sincere smile despite all the butterfly movements in his stomach.

  They had a brief moment, looking fondly at each other, but Luther was there. Back on drilling with his heart and soul but still physically in the same space. Special Agent Brandt, as he was called now, and CIA-Public-Enemy-Number-One Ethan Hunt, respectively in their forties and fifties, acting like awkward teenagers. The image had something tragically laughable in it, but Will was more on the verge of tears himself.

  Luckily for him, Ethan saved the day, giving him a quick, firm hug. He took the opportunity to whisper “Trust me” at Will’s ear before loosening his embrace and getting in the car. Two hugs in the same day. Lucky he wasn’t a fanboy anymore, or he might have fainted after all this gushing.

 

* * *

 

  Ethan was gone now and he and Luther were back to drilling away. Both of them kept their mouths shut until Will started the verbal hostilities by swearing up a storm at his now useless goddamn drill.

  Luther looked mildly exasperate.

  “Calm down, he’ll be back for whatever you’ve planned.”

  “How did you…” 

“Ethan and you ain’t the subtlest of pairs, you know. You two are so obvious it’s tragic.”

  Ask and you should receive. Will took notes for the future, again: never underestimate the almighty Luther. But thinking back to the scene… He could certainly believe Luther heard them. “No offense taken.”

  “Just… You know. Don’t kill each other. Even if you won’t stand a chance.”

  “Yeah, thank you Luther.”

  Will took another machine and started drilling again with even more energy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are more than welcome! Thanks for reading~  
> To be continued...


End file.
